


When He Was Good

by calathea



Category: I Want To Go Home! - Korman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calathea/pseuds/calathea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In later years, Mike Webster would say that it took five attempts before Rudy Miller's attempted seduction of him <i>took</i>, so to speak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When He Was Good

In later years, Mike Webster would say that it took five attempts before Rudy Miller's attempted seduction of him _took_, so to speak. Not that he exactly talked about it with many people, but occasionally, when pressed, he would say that: five attempts.

He would always blame Rudy, claiming that even Rudy had to be bad at _something_ and it was just his rotten luck that Rudy's fatal flaw was that he was just _horrible_ at seduction. Rudy usually just rolled his eyes at that point.

  1. **CPR Just Isn't Sexy**

Mike was dripping and unhappy. "But why did you push me off the dock?" he was asking plaintively, as they plodded, squelching and miserable, along the long path between the lake and the neighbouring cabins the Miller and Webster families had rented that summer. Mike and Rudy had gone down to the lake after dinner to escape their respective siblings, who had decided to hate each other with the passion of a thousand fiery suns, and were making everyone's lives miserable as a consequence.

"I didn't," Rudy said, with a suggestion of gritted teeth in his tone. "You tripped."

"You pushed me!" Mike retorted, and pulled his t-shirt off, wringing out a thin trickle of water onto the dusty ground. "I felt your hand on my back! It serves you right that you fell in too."

Rudy stopped walking and looked at Mike silently for a long, long moment. Mike stopped and looked back at him.

Finally Rudy shook his head and sighed. "You tripped on a coil of rope," Rudy said, "And I didn't fall in after you. I _jumped_ in when you didn't surface after the first few seconds. Bronze Cross, remember?"

Mike sniffed, and started walking again. "Well, whatever," he said, uneasily aware that he sort of remembered a tug on his ankle right before he fell face first into the weed-infested water by the edge of the dock. Not that that explained Rudy's hand on his back.

He cast a glance over at Rudy when he caught up. "At least you didn't have to do mouth-to-mouth, right?" Mike said, smiling weakly.

"Right," said Rudy, after a peculiarly long pause. "At least."

  2. **Toxic Vegetation By Moonlight, Anyone?**

"I hate you," Mike called through the closed bathroom when Rudy tapped on it and asked if he was all right. "This is my fourth shower in an hour."

Rudy's voice was muffled by the door. "Your mom sent me out to buy you a box of baking soda. She said to pour the whole box into a warm bath."

Mike turned the shower off and snatched a towel from the rail, wrapping it around his waist. In the steamed up mirror over the sink, he could just make out the blotchy poison ivy rash over his back and shoulders, red and sore-looking even against the flush of his skin from his almost-too-hot shower.

He opened the door, and a cloud of steam rushed out. Rudy, lit by the harsh bathroom light, surrounded by the sudden fog, reminded Mike suddenly of a demon in a bad horror flick. His eyes even seemed to gleam dangerously for a moment, and Mike stepped back hastily, self-consciously grabbing at his towel to make sure it was securely fastened.

"Here," said Rudy, holding out a box, and Mike relaxed a little at Rudy's familiar voice. He accepted the box.

"So just, pour it in the bath?" Mike said, and turned to run the water.

"Yeah," said Rudy, and leaned on the counter. After a moment he cleared his throat and said: "I'm sorry."

Mike turned back to him, one hand still idly stirring the bath water to help the baking soda dissolve. "You are?" he said, astonished, "I mean. Yes. Good. Thank you. I don't know why you wanted to go hang out in the woods at night anyway. But it wasn't really your fault that I leaned against the wall and got poison ivy down my back."

Rudy coughed and said nothing, and Mike turned his attention back to the bath, pouring in more baking soda as the it filled. "It's not too bad, actually," he said, adjusting the water temperature, "Remember the second year at camp? I got it way worse then. Though, thinking about it, that was your fault too."

He chuckled, then nearly fell in the bath in surprise when he felt a cool hand touch his shoulder.

"Sorry," Rudy said again, and Mike just nodded at him. "Though," Rudy said after a moment, in something more like his usual tone of voice, "I don't think I'm entirely to blame for your affinity with leaves of three. You just need to learn to _leave them be_, Mike."

Mike laughed, and then stood up. "Yeah," he sighed. "Well, unless you want to wash my back, I suggest you get out of here while I commune with the baking soda."

"Right," said Rudy, but didn't move. Mike, his hands already moving to the towel secured around his waist, paused for a moment, looking at Rudy questioningly when he stayed where he was, one hip leaning against the counter. "Right, yes," Rudy said again, finally, and backed out of the bathroom, the door closing with a quiet click behind him.

  3. **Is That A Fire In Your Pocket?**

Mike held up his jeans and looked at the blackened patch of fabric in dismay. "These were my favourites," he said, mournfully. "My other pair is kind of tight."

Rudy looked up from where he was flicking through a magazine disinterestedly. "It was a noble way to go," he said, seriously.

Mike sighed and poked his finger through a charred hole. "I can't even turn them into cut-offs," he said, "The hole is too high."

Rudy said nothing, and Mike turned to look at him, catching Rudy in a rare moment without his imperturbable mask of calm. He seemed contemplative, his eyes fixed on Mike.

"What?" Mike said, glancing down at himself nervously. "I haven't got a hole in my shorts, have I?"

He craned his neck, trying to look down his own back.

"No, no," said Rudy, "Though burning is probably too good for your Spiderman shorts."

Mike rolled his eyes. "You know, some people might say it was your fault that my pants got set on fire. If you hadn't been standing so close to me at the bonfire, I would have been able to get out of the way of those kids running around with flaming marshmallows."

"Mmm," said Rudy, sounding a little distracted. His gaze suddenly snapped up to Mike's face. "On the other hand, if I hadn't been, I wouldn't have been able to catch you when you almost fell over, and more than your jeans would have been sacrificed to the gods of fire tonight."

"Yeah," said Mike, and poked a finger through the hole again. He sighed. "I really liked these jeans. They were just the right sort of baggy."

"It's a shame," said Rudy, but to Mike his commiseration sounded insincere. Mike sighed again soundlessly, and let the jeans fall into the trash can.

  4. **Fratricide Is Never Pretty**

Mike was hiding. Mostly, he was hiding from Agatha Philpotts, who had been pursuing him relentlessly ever since he arrived with his parents at the boat club dance an hour before, but he was also hiding from Vicky, who for reasons known only to herself was insisting he had to dance with her.

"But I don't know anyone here," she whined when, horrified, he declined. "Only you and Rudy and stupid Jeffrey."

"So go pester Rudy," Mike said, keeping a wary eye on Agatha, who was heading towards him with a determined expression. It wasn't that Agatha was an unattractive girl, he thought, she just _scared_ him. At the first boat club dance of the summer she'd managed to get her hand down the back of his jeans while they were dancing, causing him to yelp in an unmanly way. He'd been running scared ever since.

"He already said no," Vicky said, petulantly. "Plus I can't find him."

"Jeff, then," Mike said, distractedly, and then, ignoring Vicky's offended grunt, made his way hastily out of the side door of the building, where he hid in the shadow of a large tree, pulling out his cell phone to text Rudy for rescue.

Rudy turned up a couple of minutes later, dropping down to sit next to him. "Agatha?" he asked, not noticeably sympathetic. "Perhaps you could send her a No Means No pamphlet."

Mike grinned and leaned back against the tree, letting his knee touch Rudy's leg.

Two hours later, they were still there, even though the air had cooled considerably. Mike shivered and Rudy broke off his description of a classmate's calamitous driving test experience to say, "You're cold, come on, let's go in."

He jumped to his feet, reaching out a hand to tug Mike to his feet, and they walked into the building, Mike keenly aware of the brush of their arms and hands as they walked.

The dance was still in full swing inside, the music slow and romantic. Mike glanced around quickly. "She's still here!" he whispered to Rudy.

"Quick," Rudy whispered back, catching his hand, "Before she sees you."

He pulled on Mike's hand, ducking quickly into a curtained door behind some seating. Mike followed him along a tunnel-like passage, feeling a blush warm him from his hair to his toes when he realized he was almost holding hands with Rudy. Rudy suddenly stopped, though, and Mike cannoned into his back.

"Uh," he said, only to be interrupted by a high-pitched squeak that he was pretty sure hadn't come from Rudy.

"It's not what you think!" he heard Vicky say. Mike blinked and peered around Rudy's shoulder. Vicky and Jeff were standing, several feet apart, in the tiny space at the end of the passage. Vicky's hair was mussed, and Jeff's shirt was untucked. They both looked thoroughly kissed. Mike closed his eyes quickly

"You're _not_ making out back here, then?" Rudy said, expressionlessly.

This time it was Mike who yelped. "Oh my god," he said, "Mentally scarred! I don't want to think about my sister making out with Jeffrey!"

Jeff sniggered, and Vicky smacked him in the upper arm. "Shut up, dorkface," she said.

"That's not what you were saying a minute ago," Jeff said, rubbing his bicep.

"Mentally scarred!" Mike said again.

Vicky snorted. "Like you guys are any better," she said, "I _really_ don't want to think about you..."

"We'll just be going, then," Rudy interrupted, steering Mike towards the exit. "Jeffrey, there will be a reckoning for your abuse of privileged information later."

"What?" said Jeffrey, sounding distracted.

Mike glanced back to see his sister moving back in closer to Jeff. "Scars!" he said to Rudy as they came out of the curtained door again, "Deep, terrible ones. I might need therapy."

Rudy had just opened his mouth to reply when Mike felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Michael!" a pleased voice said, and he turned to face his doom. "Let's dance." And Agatha Philpotts dragged him bodily towards the dance floor.

'Help!' he mouthed frantically at Rudy, but Rudy just looked back at him, looking unexpectedly frustrated, before shrugging.

Mike resigned himself to his fate.

  5. **When He Was Good**

"Only three more days," said Mike from where he was sitting, leaning against a sofa. The rest of the Miller and Webster families had headed out for a day of hiking, leaving them behind to do all the things their mothers disapproved of teenage boys doing on long sunny summer days: wake up late, eat junk food for breakfast, and laze around inside rather than going outside for good, healthy fun. "And then only a month until we go to university."

"Mmm," said Rudy, who was lying on the same sofa. "Just think. We can microwave pizza for breakfast every day if we want."

Mike laughed, and turned to grin at Rudy. "You won't keep your muscles if you do," he said, poking a finger into Rudy's tanned abdomen. Rudy, wearing only a pair of shorts, sucked his stomach in, and Mike laughed again before subsiding, his head pressed into the sofa cushion.

A few seconds passed and then Mike said, with a little hesitation: "I'm kind of nervous about school. It'll be awesome to have a friend there, someone I already know."

Rudy said nothing, just hummed wordlessly, and Mike wondered for a second if he was falling asleep. A second later though, he felt a soft touch in his hair as Rudy's fingers slid through the dark ruffled strands. He turned quickly, surprised, until he was on his knees in front of the couch, and found Rudy smiling at him, propped up on one elbow. "Rudy?" he said.

"I've tried romantic," said Rudy, his voice as calm as ever, "I've tried sneak attacks. I've tried being opportunistic. I think this time I'll try the direct approach, before I get stuck being your _friend_ forever."

Holding Mike's eyes, he leaned forward, his fingers slipping into Mike's hair again as their lips met. Mike's eyes closed, and he lost every sense but touch: the feel of Rudy's lips against his, slightly chapped and dry initially, then slick against his when they sank a little deeper into the kiss; the tug of Rudy's fingers in his hair; the gentle rasp of stubble against his skin when Rudy broke away gently to let Mike breathe, to press a soft kiss against Mike's still closed eyelids.

"I.." said Mike, and scrambled ungracefully upwards to sit on the edge of the sofa by Rudy's hip, leaning down to kiss Rudy again, his weight braced on his arm by Rudy's head. As they kissed, Rudy's hand slid beneath his t-shirt, stroking over muscles extended by Mike's uncomfortable position. He murmured something, vaguely distressed by his own inability to touch and keep himself held over Rudy at the same time. Rudy solved this by tugging at Mike until he was lying down alongside Rudy, their bodies tight against one another on the narrow couch.

"I like the direct approach," Mike managed, finally, when Rudy released his lips to explore the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his hands stroking slowly over Mike's still-clothed hip, although Mike had lost his t-shirt about sixteen kisses ago.

"I do too," said Rudy, blandly, nibbling at Mike's skin. "Especially since you didn't even notice the indirect approach."

Mike arched, and gasped when Rudy's hand moved to cup and stroke him through the fabric of his shorts. "I... No," he said, and Rudy's hand disappeared instantly, the warmth of his body lifting away from Mike so that Rudy could look at him seriously.

"No?" said Rudy. He looked, Mike thought dazedly, like Mike had hit him.

"What?" Mike said, frowning at the loss of contact.

"You said no," Rudy replied. "I don't need a pamphlet."

"No, not that no," Mike said, urgently. "That's a definite yes. In fact, a _hell, yes_."

He reached out to pull Rudy close again, rolling so that Rudy was half lying on him, entwining their legs. Rudy looked at him searchingly, the hurt look vanishing. "Hell, yeah," he said, and dipped his head to capture Mike's lips again.

Mike was moving restlessly against him when Rudy paused again. He sounded almost breathless when he said, "So, the indirect approach?" he said, his hand once more at Mike's hip.

Mike's response, if textually rendered, would have looked something like: "Gneesh!"

"You said no?" Rudy asked, pressing an inquisitive kiss to Mike's neck, his hand slipping in tiny increments to where Mike wanted it most.

"I did?" Mike said, "Oh. I meant. I didn't not notice. You just weren't very good at it."

Rudy pulled away, and Mike moaned a little in disappointment. "What?" Rudy said, his voice offended. "I wasn't very good at it?"

Mike nodded and stroked a hand over the muscles of Rudy's back. "Doesn't matter," he said, letting his hands drift down towards Rudy's narrow waist. "Everyone has to be bad at something. And we're here, right?"

Rudy would presumably have said more, but Mike lifted his head to kiss him again, and after a moment Rudy relaxed against him, heavy and hot and moving gently, perfectly, against Mike's skin. Mike wrapped his arms around Rudy and allowed coherent conversation to lapse into history.

~*~

They were respectably covered and cleaned up, at least, though still drowsing sleepily against one another on the too-narrow sofa, when Vicky came back. Started awake by the bang of the door as she and Jeffrey, arguing in the way that Mike now knew (although he wished he could scrub the knowledge out of his brain with bleach) presaged a intense make-out session, came in, they weren't able to move quickly enough to prevent her sudden shriek of "Scarred! Mentally scarred!" when she caught sight of them.  





* * *

In later years, Rudy Miller would never say that it took _far more_ than five tries before his attempted seduction of Mike Webster _took_, so to speak. Mike, who was in many other ways an admirable human being, and very probably the love of Rudy Miller's life, was just horribly _bad_ at noticing when he was being seduced.

* * *


End file.
